He scratches his neck and says, “I should be fairly good at this, but I’m not. So I’m going to tell you straight up and please forgive my bluntness.”
“Drew, you’re scaring me.”
“Cate, all this stuff going on with me, my ribs, the pleurisy. It’s none of that. I have cancer. Bone cancer. Ewing Sarcoma to be precise.”
My arms and hands go numb as shock settles in. “Wh-what? What are you saying? Cancer?” My gut drops through the floor and I want to lose everything I ate today. Cancer! Drew! My brain spins with his words.
“Yes, cancer. I wasn’t satisfied with their diagnoses, so I discussed everything with one of the attendings in my program, and he suggested a bone scan. That’s what it showed. Well, it showed a mass the size of a thumbnail and then I had a CT-guided needle biopsy, and a follow up PET scan.”
“And you didn’t tell me any of this?” I don’t even know what most of what he said is.
“I didn’t want to worry you if it turned out to be nothing.”
“Drew,” I throw my arms around him. “I wish you had told me. I would’ve been there with you.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter now,” he says as he hugs me back.
“Oh my god. How did you hide this from me?”
He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head.
“So now what?”
“I guess my choice of fellowships was prophetic. The oncology fellow gets cancer himself.”
“Oh, Drew.” I squeeze him tighter.
“Easy there, Cate.”
“Oh,” I say, letting him go.
“Don’t let me go, just not so tight. I need those arms of yours right now. I’m scared. For one of the first times in my life.”
Now I know this is the real deal. I know I can’t let the tears loose that keep trying to punch their way through. I must be strong for him.
“Talk to me, babe. Tell me what the plan is,” I say, my face against his neck. Please, God, let me be strong for this beautiful man.
“Chemo. Then surgery. Here’s the weird thing. I have a pediatric cancer. It’s super rare for an adult to get this. But they may switch up my chemo a bit since I’m not a peds patient. I meet with the Oncology team Monday. I had a phone call with one of them today. They may want to do a surgical excision first. They’re having a tumor board on Friday.”
“A tumor board?”
“Yeah, it’s where a bunch of oncologists get together and discuss a case. I will be theirs this Friday. Then we meet on Monday to decide my course of therapy.”
“Are you good with this? Do we need to go somewhere else?”
“Nah. They connect with all the major centers so the treatment protocols are pretty much the same.”
“Your parents? Do they know?”
“Not yet. I’m going to call them tomorrow.”
“Drew, look at me.” Sadness dulls his normally bright blue eyes. “We’re going to kick this cancer in the ass, babe. Do you hear me? I’m going to be with you every step of the way and we’re going to knock this thing out of you. I want you to understand this.”
“I know. I’m with you, Cate. We’re going to win this war. It’s what I want to do with my life … with our lives.”
I grab his face and kiss him. “You bet your ass we do.”
“There’s something else. With chemo, there’s a strong chance it will destroy any possibility of my ability to have kids.”
“Drew, I don’t care …”
“Let me finish, Cate. I want to freeze my sperm. In the chance that it does, and I do beat this …”
“There is no if. You’re going to beat this.”
“I know. So, when the time comes, and we want kids, we’ll still be able to do that.”
“Okay.” And I hug him, because if there is a choice, I will always choose Drew.
Drew has a meeting scheduled with his oncology team on Monday, the same day classes start for me. I want to skip so I can be with him. He assures me he’s good.
“Realistically, babe, what can you do? I have one of my attendings coming with me, and Mom and Dad will be here, too. It’s not that I don’t want you there, but you need to be in class. This is your final year.”
“I know but this is your life. I’m a part of it. I want to be with you, holding your hand.”
“And you will. In spirit.”
I pace the living room. I’ve delayed my departure by two days. I don’t have books or anything purchased yet. He’s right and I know it. This is going to be a tough semester for me, too. I’m taking eighteen ball-busting hours.
“Come here.” He calls me over to the couch where he sits. Then he pulls me on his lap. I suck in my breath and try to get up. “I’m not fragile, Cate. Don’t treat me as though I am. Now listen up. We both have lives to live and I want us to be as normal as possible. Cancer sucks, no matter how you look at it. There will be times I’ll need you desperately. Right now is not one of them. I have a huge support team and you’re my number one. I know that. As soon as I’m finished, I’ll call. But you have a job to do. When we get married in June, you need to be done, your diploma in hand, with that summa cum laude behind your name. You won’t be able to do that if you skip classes.”